


Little Wonders

by askynote



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 05:10:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10564287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/askynote/pseuds/askynote
Summary: Stan knew this was a bad idea from the start. He shouldn't have answered that call as soon as he had recognized his younger brother’s voice. He had things to do, things that involved trying to restart a portal he knew nothing about and get his brother back. Things that had to do with figuring out how to find the other journals. Things that had to do with running a tourist trap to earn money. Things that had to do with staying in low profile so he could keep up with his lie.But the wordsbabiesandtwinsstopped him on his way to hit the hang-up button.(In which Stan visits the twins on some of their birthdays through the years)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaahh, I wrote this last year, and it was supposed to be way longer and post it on the twins' birthday but I got stuck. Aaanyway here it is <3

Stan knew this was a bad idea from the start. He shouldn't have answered that call as soon as he had recognized his younger brother’s voice. He had  _ things _ to do, things that involved trying to restart a portal he knew nothing about and get his brother back. Things that had to do with figuring out how to find the other journals. Things that had to do with running a tourist trap to earn money. Things that had to do with staying in low profile so he could keep up with his lie.

But the words  _ babies _ and  _ twins _ stopped him on his way to hit the hang-up button. 

And now Stan Pines was on a six-hour trip leading straight to Piedmont, California.

Apparently, Ford had been in touch with the other part of their family as much as with him. They just were aware of how deep he was into his investigation, the discovery of something that could be the peak of his career, so it would be easy to pretend to him. Neither he nor Ford had visited Shermie enough for him to notice a distinction between the two, and he was sure his son didn't know anything about Stanley Pines, if he did it was probably that guy who dropped out school, the sad disgrace of the family, fists and no brain. He wasn't sure how upsetting it was that it didn't sting as much as it should because he had come to embrace that mode of thinking. 

He wondered how unknowable he would be to the newborns, and if he would have the guts to tell them someday. He shrugged off those thoughts as fast as they came. The less anyone knew about him, the better. He was Mr. Mystery after all. 

When he finally arrived, the waiting room was almost empty, just filled with a young couple, his younger brother, and now him. 

“So how’s everything going on with that Shack of yours,” Shermie said. Everything was so quiet that his voice echoed through the room. “I was surprised when you told me you were going to show your discoverings to the worlds so openly.”

Stan shrugged, nonchalant. “A man has to live somehow and pay off debts. And what's the point of seeing so many weird things when there's no one else to share it with?” That didn't seem something his brother would say, but he had done a lot of things his brother wouldn't. It was as if he had reshaped Ford’s traits and combined them with his own, creating a whole different person. A living lie based on truths. 

“I should visit. Someday,” Shermie spoke after a brief silence. “Hang out more, y’know?”

Stan was caught off guard but did his best to swallow down his astonishment. “Sure. If you don't get too bored.” He hit him with his elbow and added, “You can even help somehow in the shop. I would show you some tricks to con people.”

His brother raised an eyebrow, probably trying to figure out how much of what he’d said was a joke.

Thankfully, when he was about to open his mouth to speak, Shermie’s son, Dale, came out of the room, looking slightly distraught and a little awkward. Stan tried to not make any joke about it.

He cleared his throat. “Uhh. Baby action is going.  I don't know if—” He scratched the back of his neck, sheepishly. “You've come a long way to see us. So… Would you like to come in?”

It took him two blinks, and a push to his ribs from Shermie to realize that the question had been directed at him. 

He guessed he was not completely unwanted if they had invited him. Shermie was trying to get in contact with him. He wondered if they had always done that, try to reach Ford. He could tell why they had been delighted at finally getting a response. Stan felt a bitter taste in his tongue. 

Stan told Dale he would absolutely love to come in. Not in those exact words, but nevermind.

Being in the delivery room was an experience. There was screaming, from the mother and a little bit from the father too. Shermie let out a yelp at some point when he was hit accidentally in the face. Stan spurted out jokes to make the mother laugh and relax, holding one of her hands as she kept pushing.

Pride swelled in his chest as the baby girl punched the doctor after the sound of her first cries were heard. The same feeling spread after the baby boy came out, after the cord around his neck was removed and soon, he was crying like her sister had. They were both little fighters, Stan could tell.

“Mabel and Mason,” Laura Pines said with a tired smile. Why everyone wanted to pick matchy names for twins, he would never know.

Stan cradled the babies in his arms, after being pestered by everyone’s insistence. They seemed so fragile and  _ tiny _ . Stan was afraid to hurt them with his big rough hands, which often did more damage than good. But they didn't cry or scream. They only stirred a little to lean against his warmth. 

Stan smiled. He hadn't smiled like that in many years. A soft, gentle smile. Wide and full of fondness. 

Then, Stan noticed something on the boy’s forehead, tiny little moles across it, and if he paid attention, it sort of had a certain shape. 

“He has—”

“A birthmark, yeah. Isn't it lovely?”

_ Born with a rare birth defect.  _

Stan unconsciously held them a little tighter. The story wouldn’t repeat, Stan knew that it wouldn’t, these twins were entirely different. Still, he hoped they wouldn’t follow their same steps. 

* * *

Even before he rang the bell, he could hear the sound of children screaming and laughing from the backyard. He tapped his foot as he waited and fixed his tie, putting his most polished smile, the one who helped him sell from the cheapest souvenir to tickets for fake attractions tours.

“Uncle Stan!” Laura said happily, after opening the door. She looked exhausted, but not as much as she had looked in the first year of the twins’ birth, on that time her hair had been all over the place, her moves were clumsy, and there had been prominent dark circles under her eyes. But the twinkle in them had been there then and it was still there now, even when her entire clothes were covered in either paint or icing cake. “I’m so glad you could make it. The kids would be so excited to see you!”

Stan really doubted that. He was sure they didn’t even remember him. He had stayed a couple of weeks after they were born and later visited a few times. Then, he had realized how little progress he had made on the portal and decided to step back for awhile. It had been three years, and when Laura and Dale kept sending him an invitation every year, and tried to contact him several times per month, he finally relented. 

“C’mon Dipper, honey,” she called behind her back. Stan spotted a brown mop of curly hair, hiding behind the wall that divided the living room from the hall. Laura beckoned him to come closer. “Come on sweetheart. Say hi to your great uncle.”

“Dipper? Wasn’t his name—?”

“Oh. Yeah. It's his nickname. I think he likes it even more than his own name.” She looked at her son again, extending her hand. “Dipper, come here, don't be rude.”

The kid turned and ran off. Laura sighed and gave him a nervous smile. “He's a little shy around newcomers. Mabel is playing with the other kids. She was trying to include him in the games, but I guess he managed to get away.”

Outside, there was a sound of glass breaking. Laura widened her eyes. “Oh my god. Gotta check what's wrong. Make yourself at home, Uncle Stan!”

Stan barely had time to say “uh sure” as she went outside, leaving him on his own.

“Great,” he muttered.

He decided to saunter for a bit, checking the wall where they had hung a bunch of pictures. Stan dwelled on the fact of how cozy everything felt. His childhood home used to be like that some days, and in others, they were mostly plagued with fights and frustration.

He made his way to the living room where he found Dipper curled on the sofa with a book on hand, but when someone laughed outside, his eyes drifted from the pages to the back door. Stan tried not to startle him and sat quietly on the couch next to him.

“So...Why aren't you outside?” Stan asked. 

Dipper skimmed the book and shrugged, trying to look disinterested. Stan hummed. Laura had said he was shy, and that was probably true but Stan could see behind that. After living with someone who used to dodge any social interaction—not that he was better at it—he knew how to deal with this. 

“So hey, kiddo, wanna see something cool?” 

Dipper lowered his book, didn't nod or shake his head, just stared at him, wary. 

Stan reached for his pocket, taking out a penny. He held it in his left hand, showing it to him and then passed it to his right hand, blowing. When he opened his hand, the coin was gone. 

“How you did that?” Dipper asked, his eyes big and bright.

Stan winked, smiling mischievously as if he was sharing a secret. “Magic.”

If it was even possible, Dipper’s eyes widened even more. Stan thought he was going to ask him a million questions, but the kid jumped from the couch and ran outside, leaving him too stunned to call him back.

When he was about to get up to join everyone else, Dipper entered the room once again,  this time with a girl in hand. Her brown hair was tied in two pigtails that bounced as she walked, she held a rainbow popsicle, which made the corners of her mouth look redder. 

Maybe Stan hadn’t visited them much since they were born, but he could tell these kids were the same ones he had seen and held that day in the hospital just by looking at their eyes.

“Hi!” Mabel Pines said. “What's your name?”

“Mom said he's our great uncle,” Dipper replied in a hushed tone as if  Stan couldn’t hear them. 

She furrowed her brow, staring at him up and down before her lips curled up. “Grunkle.”

Before Stan could correct her, Dipper tugged at her shirt and shook his head. “Great Uncle.”

Mabel giggled and poked her brother’s ribs. “Grunkle.”

“But Mom said—”

“Eh. It's okay kiddo. Good enough for me.” Stan shrugged. “I'm your old man, Grunkle Stan.” He tasted the way the word sounded in his mouth. Great Uncle  _ did _ sound too formal for him anyway. 

Lost in thought, he didn't realize the kids’ eyes on him until the room was in sudden silence.

Stan cleared his throat. “So… Hey, let's go to the backyard to show you some tricks.”

Outside, the twins didn't leave him alone at any moment. He made all the coin tricks he could remember, gave them balloons and told them they were swords. When Dale caught his eyes and watched his son outside and her daughter not breaking anything, he raised an eyebrow as if asking  _ “How?” _ , Stan just offered the flick of a smile, because he honestly had no idea of how he did most things in his life.

* * *

The next time he visited them on their birthday was when they turned ten years old. And it was—quite the difference.

The kids were, in a sense, pretty much the same. They were still, well, kids, Mabel was loud, Dipper was quiet. This time, though, there weren't children running all over the place, but colorful decorations were still adorning the living room, with a big cake on the middle of the table.

“They had their birthday party yesterday. We took them to laser tag,” Dale had explained. “We wanted them to spend more time with you. Since you were coming from so far away.”

Stan couldn't understand why they kept insisting on spending time with him after so many times he had rejected their offers and so little times he had accepted them. Stan didn't know what he did to make them so strangely fond of him. 

“—So then, this big ugly boy makes fun of Dipper for falling and—”

The boy’s cheek turned pink as he shoved her “Mabel! He doesn't need to know that.”

“Kids, behave,” their father told them, without heat, and yet still serious. Stan wondered if he had learned those tricks from Shermie, and if Shermie just had learned them himself. Maybe he took after mom, but mom rarely said anything when his father punished them. 

Stan pointed at Dipper with his spoon. “You know, kid, sometimes when things get hard you have to give them a little push. If you know what I mean. Return the hit.”

“Uncle Stan,” Dale said, horrified. 

“What? Life's like that, and there’s nothing wrong with self-defense,” Stan protested and then turned to the boy again. “You can't let them get away with it.”

Dipper lowered his head, starting to play with his thumbs, remaining silent. Stan’s heart clenched at the reminder of his past. Both Ford and Stan had dealt with bullies in the majority of their school life. They faced it differently. Ford chose to ignore it by being the best at everything, and Stan used his fists, again and again. 

“You know how to fight, Grunkle Stan?” Mabel asked.

“Since I was a kid.”

“You know how to do a lot of things,” Dipper mused. Stan couldn't handle that glint admiration. It wasn't meant for him. 

_ Not really _ , he wanted to say to Dipper.

He opted for shrugging and decided to change the subject. “Oh yeah, I just remembered. I brought presents.”

Mabel stood on her chair. “Did you bring us an unicorn? I bet you've seen plenty of them.”

“Oh. Yeah, they are very—sparkly.”

“I knew it.”

“But I didn't bring one. Didn't fit in the bag.”

“Would you ever take us?” Dipper interjected, watching as Stan got up from the chair to get the two gift bags. “To see one, I mean. Or some of the other creatures you said they are in town.”

“Eh—” Stan glanced at their parents to see what kind of reaction they had. Stan didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up or give an answer their parents wouldn’t approve of, but they looked unfazed for the question. Still, he didn’t want to give a definite answer, so he replied, “I don't see why not.” And said no more about the topic.

Stan handed each bag to each twin, and sat up again, crossing his arms behind his head, leaning a little against his seat. “Happy Birthday, little gremlins.”

After they tore the bag apart, Stan watched as their eyebrows furrowed in confusion and probably in disappointment.

Dipper examined his gift, moving the beads from side to side. “What’s—this?”

“An abacus.” He had found it among his brother’s stuff, and he believed it was better than giving him a calculator. If it was old, and not used anymore, it could pass as a relic, and people loved relics as gifts. “To count things. I heard you like math.”

“...Yeah.”

“Dipper, be nice,” his mother reprimanded him. “Say thank you.”

“Is it made of wood?” Dale said as Dipper kept observing and touching the abacus as if it had a secret that would rebel itself at any time. “It seems like it was made back in the 80s or something. It's really nice.”

Dipper didn't seem to believe that, but since his parents were waiting for a positive response, he said, “Thanks.”

Mabel, on the other hand, had let out an excited yelp, clutching her gift to her chest.

“It’s what kitties use to play!”

“You can also make clothes with it.”

Stan had taken the ball of purple yarn from Soos’ Abuelita since it was the one with the needle attached to it. He had thought of also grabbing a knitting magazine, but then he would've had to find another gift for Dipper, so he left it like that. 

“This is so great.” Mabel smiled brightly. “I'm gonna learn to knit you a million hats, Grunkle Stan! Oh, and  _ sweaters. _ ”

Stan patted her head. “Just made them make me look cool.”

* * *

Stan was having one of those nights. A bad night. The ones in which he felt desperate and empty, blaming every decision he had made for his mistakes, for the disappearance of his brother.

It had been so long, and he hadn't made remarkable progress. 

Sometimes he couldn't help but think he would never make it. He would never bring him back. 

In those nights, Stan opted for lying on his old bed and stared at the ceiling while watching the fan spin and spin until those thoughts decided to quieten.

This time they weren't. 

He went downstairs then, going to the kitchen to find something to eat and turned on the TV. Maybe the noise would help him to sleep, but as he was barely changing the channels to decide what was the best option to watch, the phone rang. 

Stan let it rang, one, two, and three times, before finally picking it up.

“Hello?”

“Uncle Stan?”

“Oh, hey, Laura.”

“Hey, Uncle Stan. I'm sorry to call at such hours but, ah—I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

Stan tapped his fingers on his leg in a repeated motion. “What do you need?”

She hesitated, taking a moment before replying. Her voice was soft, uncertainty reflecting. “Could you—maybe, take the kids for this summer?”

The questions took him aback, heart skipping a beat. He tightened the grip on the phone until he felt his knuckles turning white. 

“Dale and I are aware of how big the responsibility is,” Laura continued, speaking faster and sounding more nervous than before. “You must be really busy and all. It's just—We are a little worry about them, and we think meeting new places and new people would be good for them.”

“What's wrong with them?”

“It’s not that there's something  _ wrong _ per se.” She let out a long, tired breath. “School has just been difficult for both. And they always used to look so excited when you told them stories—”  _ That was before they realized how fake everything was. How fake  _ he  _ was. _ They had grown up, and they didn’t think he was some kind of figure to be followed, not anymore, and Stan was actually more glad than sad. Really. “—So we thought a summer out of home would clear their minds a little from all the stress.”

Stan thought about the not-even-half-built portal downstairs, about the dozens of obnoxious tourists who came and went every day, about the leak in the ceiling and the creak of the stairs. About the weird rumors, Ford’s journal, and the eerie sensation of someone always watching behind his back.

Stan knew he didn't have a lot of free time, that getting too involved  _ was  _ not a good plan.

But still.

Wouldn't he and his brother have loved to go to a place where ghosts, monsters, and magic, real or not, cohabited with people who were out of normal?

Maybe the kids didn't believe his stories anymore—and that was okay, he wouldn't want them to actually go and look for the creatures the journal warned about—but there was nothing wrong with wanting them to meet people like Wendy or Soos. To assure them that being weird, or different, wasn't a flaw. 

He wanted to give them what he didn’t had when he was growing up. 

So he accepted and spent an entire week preparing for their arrival. He obtained edible and fairly healthy food, stole some blankets, pillows, and an extra mattress from people who wouldn't really need them. He conditioned the attic, having Soos cleaning it up as best as he could, who seemed way too excited to see people he didn't even know.

Stan didn’t say it aloud, but deep down, Stan knew he was just as excited as Soos.

* * *

The first night the twins arrived, they filled the house with happy, cheerful noises for the first time in years.

Stan’s laugh was loud and sincere, allowing himself to not think in the past, or the future, at least for a moment.


End file.
